


The One Where Dave Helps Dirk

by eighth_chiharu



Series: The One Where Dave's a Vampire [5]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Gen, Harassment, M/M, Magic, Minor Violence, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 09:37:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 5,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7710103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eighth_chiharu/pseuds/eighth_chiharu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fast forward 4 years. Dirk's starting high school, but it's not all smooth sailing. Something as simple as being sent to detention shouldn't be this big of a deal...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. protective change

It’s overcast. I hate when it’s overcast. Wishy-washy clouds need to make up their minds. Are they gonna rain or not? If they are, then just dump the load already. If not, then they need to fuck off and stop blocking the sun and holding in all the stupid humidity. I might die of heat exhaustion just from going outside.

I tell Rose as much while I sit on the floor by the couch, doing up my sneakers. I shouldn’t complain to her since she’s sick, but it’s hard for me to stop. I’m just used to talking to her.

“Know what your problem is? PMS,” I say. My shoelace snaps with a distinct crack, and I slant her a sideways look. “Okay, see, that just proves my point. Emotional hormones.”

“You’re going to be late,” Rose says. She still sounds bossy even with an ice pack over her eyes. That’s some serious parental talent.

I knot the broken bit of the lace to the dangling end and finish with my shoes. I push up my sunglasses and check my backpack. I’m stalling. "I should probably stay. Since Dave’s checked out for the day.“

"No.” She finds my shoulder by touch, squeezes it and smiles a little. The smile looks just as washed-out as the rest of her. “I’ll be all right. You can go.”

I fiddle with the bows of my shoelaces, shrugging. “It’s no problem. School isn’t anything important, some kind of pep rally for the incoming freshman. Who all hate me anyhow because I’m years ahead in math.”

“They don’t hate you,” Rose says in her calm, trust-me-I-know-better-than-you voice. “They don’t know you. They just don’t know what to think yet.”

“Call it what you want, it looks like classic jealousy-fueled hatred to me.”

“You’ve only been there for three days.”

I want to argue more, tell Rose that there’s no point in going to a school where I have two friends just so the other 150 kids in my year can snub me. I want to tell her I’m gonna stay right where I am, so I can be here for her just like she’s been there for me, because really, who leaves a sick person all by themselves when they can hardly stand up without keeling over?

But all the books I’ve read say parents want their kids to be independent. Rose is pretty much standing in for my mom; she probably wants me to get on the bus at least once by myself now that I’m an official 9th-grader. Or maybe this is a weaning thing and I have to go by myself from now on. I don’t know.  Rose has walked me downstairs every morning since I was nine-and-a-half. Four years kind of ingrains a person with expectation.

Growing up is bullshit if it means leaving someone behind.

I stand, sneakers squeaking. “Tell you what: I’m gonna go catch the bus, and then I’ll come back at lunch. It’s Friday.  I won’t miss much, and it’s kind of asshole-y of me to leave you here alone. I’ve read about people who think they’re fine, and then wham, dehydrated and dead. Or they fall and hit their head on the toilet, and more dead. It pretty much all ends up hey-I’m-fine-oops-nope-critical-mistake-I’m-bleeding-out.”

Rose pulls the ice pack off her head to give me a real Mom Look. “Dirk.”

“No, seriously.” I scoop up my bag. “It’s cool. I’m only thinking about you here.”

She sighs and pulls the ice pack back over her eyes. “Don’t talk to any strangers. And don’t give anyone your name.”

“Or my social security number, or my address, or my Club Penguin account, yeah, yeah, I know. And you don’t die.”

The ice pack is lifted this time. Even with my sunglasses on, Rose’s pretty violet eyes meet mine, like the dark lenses aren’t even between us. “I’m not going to die, dear. I’ll be fine.” Readjusting the pack back into place, she adds, “I’ll see you at lunch.”


	2. otherwise occupied

The school bus is tuned well enough for a city-owned vehicle, and would probably go unnoticed in the early-morning traffic if Rose hadn’t long ago bespelled it with a tracking charm. She stays prone on the couch and lets the rumbling feel of it vibrate along her wards as it draws near. It stops in front of their building, and she waits for the familiar tingling sensation that tells her Dirk has passed from the apartment complex into the rest of the world. Her arm twitches as she reaches out to tap Dirk on the shoulder and renew his daily –   
  
“Oh, _shit_.”

She sits up with a jerk, the ice pack plopping into her lap, halfway to her feet when dizziness assaults her, fatigue dragging her back down to the couch. The ache behind her eyes throbs sharply, sending echoing twinges into her back, her shoulders, even her fingers. Everything hurts. She shivers, suddenly cold, and slumps over onto the cushions with a groan.

She misses her chance. The pleasant tingle that represents Dirk is fading, and the heavy vibration of the school bus thrums off into the distance. He’s gone.

Rose has come to terms with being human most of the time, but right now, it sucks fat, dangly, sweaty balls.  
  
Pushing the too-vivid image of funky testicles from her fevered mind, she draws the barest slip of magic from the ley lines below her. She shouldn’t when she’s like this, but she can’t not. She can still send Dirk some protection, just a small spell, nothing that will inflict too much stress on –

The pain in her explodes, burns so tight in her joints that nausea threatens. She releases the power with a gasp, and the fire immediately retreats, returning to the normal discomfort the flu inflicts on its victims. The lesser pain is almost enjoyable compared to the torment of attempting to wield magic with a damaged body; she decides to give it a party for being so tolerable. A lying-down party where no-one moves. Dave would appreciate the irony.

Oh, Goddess, she’s losing it.

Giving in to Nature’s frankly insulting process, Rose drags the knitted afghan off the back of the couch, pulling it around her shoulders. She checks that her cell phone is close, the volume at maximum in case Dirk calls, and tucks her legs beneath the rest of the blanket. It’s naptime.

She only has three hours to wait, and Dirk will be at school the whole time, with the sun shining everywhere and a distinct lack of aggressive night-time monsters. Burly gym teachers, trained security guards, hundreds of students, sure, but no-one said life was perfect. Normal people deal with the world every day, and no monsters eat them. Dirk will be fine. Just like she told him she would be. Haha, mild overstatement. For her, not Dirk.

She closes her eyes, almost asleep. It’ll be nice to sleep. Just until Dirk comes home. And Dave has taught him all that martial art stuff. Dirk can watch out for himself til lunch.. Dirk can do it. He’ll be… fine. 


	3. end me

Rose said she’d be fine. I have to believe that, because I’m dead.

“What is _that_ , Strider?”

I look up from my phone. Coach Peixes is standing over me, her braids falling over her shoulders, a big, evil grin on her face. I’m caught red-handed, sitting in the locker room even after I’m changed. So I do what any of my middle-school classmates would’ve done: I tell the absolute truth. “I’m texting my aunt. She’s sick.”

Coach’s grin widens. She puts her hand out. “Confiscated. Fork it over.”

I stare. Yeah, phones are forbidden during class, and yeah, I’m already in my gym clothes, so technically class has started, but shit, who doesn’t bend the rules a little? And it’s only the first period of the fourth day of the first week of class, _Jesus_.

“No, really,” I say, and show her the screen. _‘Rose, I hope you’re not dead, text me back if you’re still alive’_ is typed in and ready to be sent. “She’s by herself, so I want to make sure she’s –”

“Don’t give a shit,” Coach says, and I’ve never heard anyone say that in a happier tone. Hell, I’ve never heard a teacher say ‘shit’ at all. “Rules are rules. Give it.”

“But –”

“You really wanna go there, Strider? You want me to kick your pussy ass right here, right now, in front of everyone?”

I gape at her, which in the Land of Cool Striders means I gaze blankly are her while part of my brain is glitching, refusing to believe that anyone can be this huge of a bitch when I’m clearly being honest. She takes advantage of my backwater, trusting, middle-school mentality to snatch my phone and shut it off.

“Hey!”

“Hay is for horses.” Oh my God, she just said that for real, like she thinks she’s hilarious. “You can have this back after school – and after detention.”

“ _Detention_?” I’ve never had detention in my life. I’m a genius, I don’t get detention, I get excuses because I’m so smart that I’m bored stiff. Which is sometimes justified, sometimes not, I admit it, but detention over a phone? “I _can’t_ , I told you, my aunt is sick. I have to go home –” I almost say ‘at lunch’, but manage to keep my mouth shut on that one. “– as soon as I can and check on her.”

“Stop talkin’,” Coach says, rolling her eyes. “You’re just embarrassin’ yourself. You show up for detention, or you get a talk with the principal, and detention all next week, every day, plus a nice discussion with your ‘sick aunt’ – “ I can hear the air quotes as clearly as if she’d made the gesture that goes with them. “ – about why you’re causin’ so much trouble around here. I’m sure you can figure this one out, Poindexter. It ain’t hard. You lose.”

She pockets my phone and walks off, leaving all the guys left in the locker room goggling after her – and not in a good way.

“Fuck,” one of the boys in my class finally breathes, as if he’s afraid of her hearing, “are women even allowed in the boys’ locker room?”

I don’t know, and I strongly suspect it doesn’t matter. I’m stuck here until the end of the day, and that’s exactly the opposite of what I wanted to do. Frustrated, I keep my face blank and head for the gym. I’ll just have to find some other way to contact Rose and let her know I won’t be coming home til late. I hope she isn’t disappointed.


	4. worry in kind

Dirk doesn't call. He doesn't text. It doesn't bother Rose too much at first; she's sure he's decided to stay at school, and that he's temporarily forgotten to notify her. He's a young man, and it's the first week of high school. It's only natural that he'd have better things to occupy his time than checking in with his maiden aunt, even if he did swear up and down he would contact her. She's actually glad there's no word; maybe he's making the friends he's so afraid of making.

He doesn't check in at all, and when school ends, he doesn't come home.

The school calls before she can. Dirk is in detention.

How long is detention? she asks.

The secretary tells her it's thirty minutes, and after that, the last bus takes the remaining kids to the main stops. She may have to pick him up if their residence isn't close to one of those.

Annoyed, but relieved, Rose hangs up.

She waits outside. Their intersection is a main stop, at least according to the school map, but Dirk doesn't get off the bus when it arrives. A couple of children slouch off, yes, but not hers. She waits, even goes to the bus door and tries to peer inside, but the bus driver shakes his head, says there's only three kids left and none of them are named Dirk.

The bus drives off without leaving her her boy.

She's dizzy.

Back upstairs, she staves off a wave of weakness and phones the school. The line picks up, but it's only a recording. The office is closed, would she please leave a message of phone back tomorrow? She hangs up.

She checks her cell. There's no voice mail, no missed call, no text. She calls Dirk's phone, but it's off. There's no answer.

Her chest hurts. She knows she shouldn't panic, but the frightened feeling grows regardless. It's strong, seizing her in its teeth, shaking her. It's irrational. Dirk's fine. He's always fine. He's a strong, smart boy, and he would never let anyone hurt him or trick him into a dangerous situation.

But she can't stop trembling. She's dizzy again, and she can't stop it.

 

 


	5. wake me up

  * Dave don’t know how she does it, but Rose wakes him up an hour early - and it feels like someone’s run him over with a truck.He opens his eyes to find her standing over him, her skin a distressing gray color. Light flickers over her, then vanishes. 
  * She doesn’t give him time to make more than one questioning sound, but there isn’t a need for more than that. Only one thing would make her do something that’s so obviously hurting her.
  * He gets up.
  * It’s only 4:00pm, and the sun is only halfway to the horizon. The weight of it is incredible. It’s like walking on the bottom of a molasses ocean without a pressurized suit. If he needed to breathe, he’d be dead.
  * Dave does it anyway.
  * When he reaches the school, he stalks inside, looking exactly like the kind of person who shouldn’t be at a school in the first place: fedora, sunglasses, overcoat, gloves. He’s dressed like a pervert or a throwback from Casablanca, and either way, he gets exactly the response from the secretary that his outfit warrants.
  * “Look, ma’am, I get that it’s 90 degrees out. I have a skin thing. It’s on record, you can check it later. I’m really not in the mood, so can you tell me where the fuck my kid is or can’t you?”




	6. early bird

I keep glancing at the clock in the gym, getting more and more nervous the later it gets. Rose is a grown woman, she can take care of herself, I know that, but it doesn’t make me any less anxious about her. Coach said she called Rose and told her where I was, but that doesn’t do anything for _me_.  
  
“There,” I say, dropping the last basketball back into the bin. “They’re all pumped up. I’m done. Can I go now?”

Coach purses her too-pink lips, arms crossed over her chest. I always thought gym teachers didn’t like to wear makeup because of all the running and jumping and sweating they do all day, but I’ve been enlightened. In high school, gym teachers don’t do jack shit, and Coach wears more makeup and tasteless gold than Mr T would if he guest-starred on RuPaul’s Drag Race.  
  
“We still got the volleyballs to do, _Dick,_ ” she says, purposely mispronouncing my name. “Go get ‘em outta the cage.”

I glare angrily, crossing my arms in direct imitation of her. “Are you shitting me? It’s after four! I have to go!”

"She knows where you are.” Coach points toward the storage area in the back. “Move it.”

“This is bullshit. You already let everyone else go home. Why are you keeping me here? I didn’t even do anything!”  
  
Her answer is supposed to be bored, but it isn’t. It has the same hint of glee as when people ask about my parents even though they already know they’re dead. “ 'Cause you seem like a slow learner, Dick. Maybe when you get it through your hormone-drenched brain that you go home when I say you go home, and not before, your detention’ll be over. Now go get the volleyballs, or you’ll regret it.”

There’s nothing Coach can do to me if I walk out. I know that. She’s not legally allowed to touch me. I could be gone and home in thirty minutes. Hell, I’m pretty sure I could kick her ass if she tried to grab me.

But then I’ll be the weird genius kid with dead parents who gets violent when he can’t handle something. If I get called “Stitch” again like in grade school, I’m gonna flip the fuck out. He isn’t even the right fucking character, it’s Lilo, Jesus fucking _Christ_ , I hate people.

I want to see Rose. I’m freaking losing it, and I don’t know why. Okay, maybe I do know why. Knowing isn’t helping. Shit, what if she’s –  
  
The door to the gym flies open, banging into the wall so hard that both Coach and I jump. The dark figure looming in the doorway has Dave’s voice, and he cracks an order like a whip across the open space. “Dirk! Get your bag. We’re _going_.”


	7. surprise party

  * The pressure from the overblown fireball called The Sun – which, by the way, isn’t happy with squashing Dave like an unwanted cockroach, but is also trying its damnedest to get through his many layers of clothing so it can melt his demonically-powered organs – is nothing compared to the sheer glee he experiences when Dirk sees him and his mouth drops open. The kid’s just so adorable when he’s surprised. Dave admits it, he mentally gloats a little. He hasn’t had that effect on Dirk since the kid was eleven. This feeling could get addictive.
  * He has to fight not to smile – at least until he catches the scent of anxiety in the air. The sweat and the fear in this place have had years to accumulate, piling up in layers like the most evil fossils in existence, but the current undeserved angst reeks of his own flesh and blood.
  * His mood drops like a phat beat.
  * Dirk starts to sputter something, but Dave silences him with a look. He holds his hand out, palm up, in front of the abusive drill sergeant some morally deficient fuckup deemed worthy of the title Coach. She looks him up and down, her lips curling. She’s completely unimpressed with him or his awesome ensemble, and has no intention of doing anything he wants, not if she can help it.
  * People who try their hardest to live up to the shittiest tropes of their occupation really piss Dave off.
  * He makes it so she can’t help it.
  * “You have his phone. _**Give it to me.”**_




	8. and it's only Tuesday

Dave is here. I can’t believe it. _Dave_ is here. In the _afternoon_. OUTSIDE.

I can’t even process it. I can’t decide whether to hug him or panic. I don’t do either in front of Coach, but my whole shit day is suddenly thrown for a loop. Is Rose okay? Why is Dave here instead of her? Why didn’t she just call the school? 

I wanna grab his hand so badly that my own twitch.

I’d ask Dave, but I’ve already been shut down. He’s got that I-love-you-but-I’m-working-right-now-and-if-you-bother-me-I-might-get-very-annoyed look, the one that makes that little crease between his eyebrows and emphasizes the faint lines around his mouth. He’s staring at Coach with his hand up, a modern-day Dracula, flappy trench coat and all.

I didn’t even know Dave owned a cheesy trench coat. Or that a trench coat would look so fucking _good_ on him.

“You have his phone. _**Give it to me.”**_

The words freeze both of us, her and me. I’ve never heard that voice. It’s deep, not deep like tone, but deep like a well, or a cave. Dark and cold, echoing, compelling. Like when you stand on the edge of tall, tall building, or a cliff, and the distance itself seems to pull at you. Most of us manage to step back, sometimes barely.

Only Dave’s voice, it says, _Fall_.


	9. turn down for what

  * Dirk’s face flickers toward blankness while the coach’s goes completely slack, mouth sliding open like a landed fish. Good. The bitch deserves all the psychic slapping he can dish out. He glances at Dirk, but the kid is more in awe than mindless. Hnnn. If impressionable youth are watching, Dave had better keep this clean.
  * Trying to keep his power off of Dirk, Dave pushes at the coach’s mind, smothering it in a blanket of Dave’s own will. Slowly, like a sleepwalker, she finally reaches into her pocket and pulls out Dirk’s phone. Dave plucks it from her unresistant fingers and hands it to Dirk.
  * He’s tempted to do something that will make Coach C-Word here regret her life choices, but any marks on her would not only send the wrong message, it could get Dirk in trouble. Dave frowns.
  * Dirk edges around Dave toward the double doors, bookbag over one shoulder, already scrolling through his missed texts from Rose. He meets Dave’s gaze, trying for calm and disconnected and failing. The scent is in the air: he’s anxious again.
  * It’s time to go. 
  * Dave touches Dirk’s shoulder, squeezes it reassuringly – and suddenly knows how to fix all this. Forever. He pulls his sunglasses off and stares into the coach’s blank, glassy eyes.
  * “Listen up, and listen good. You now officially _love_ kids. You saw a special on PBS the other day that you can’t quite remember, but it showed you how smart kids are, and how impressionable, and fuck a duck if you don’t love teaching kids so much that you jump out of bed every morning with a smile bigger than The Rock’s dick, praising whatever God you believe in that you had the amazing fortune to become a gym teacher. This is your thing. Your bag. Your _jam_. Whatever the fuck it is, you love it more than sex. More than chocolate. You just love helping kids with your calm, respectful, compassionate guidance. You only want to do what’s right for all your students, and if that means staying after and personally mopping the gym yourself every day to be sure that it’s as spotless as it should be for those bright young minds, then that’s what you’ll do. You got it? Good. When you hear the gym door close, you’ll wake up.”




	10. mic drop

It’s just like an 80s movie. Dave swoops in with his trenchcoat, whips it around and gives a moving speech, and BOOM, we’re suddenly out in the late-afternoon sunshine without so much as a snappy one-liner. Detecting a severe lack of Exit Puns, I turn to him to say something about shooting fish in a barrel. Right as I open my mouth, Dave stumbles, goes down on one knee, and it blows any humor right out of my head. 

Dave is grace personified. He never falls, never misses a step. His tripping scares me so much that I can’t even make a lame-ass marriage joke.

I grab his arm, my heart beating so fast it hurts. He’s warm from the sun, all the fabric on him is crazy thick. Does he have a suit on under this thing? Is he overheating? Be calm, I gotta be calm.

“Dave.“ I try to keep my voice down, but it’s hard. “What’s happening? Is it the sun? Do you need me to drag you to the shade? What should I –”

“I’m fine.” He doesn’t sound fine, why do they keep saying that, him and Rose? They’re _not_ fine, the only fine one is me. Dave sounds almost like he’s choking. It’s his normal voice, no commanding echo, and it’s weaker than I’ve heard it in a long time. “Just… you wanna see a movie?”

“W-what?” Oh Jesus his brain is scrambled, it’s cooking from the sun, I knew he shouldn’t be here. “No. No, Dave, we have to get you _home_. And _Rose_ , Rose is worried, okay? We need to get back to her. Why’d you come instead of her? Is she really sick? You left her all _alone_ –”

“Kid, shut up a second.” Dave doesn’t move, stays still the way someone might if they’re taking a deep breath. Then he grabs my arm and hauls himself to his feet.

I have to brace against the sidewalk to keep from falling over, and I still almost lose my balance and faceplant onto the sidewalk. 

He makes an apologetic face. “Sorry. I should’ve warned you. Dirk, Rose is fine. Well - fine-er.”

“ ‘Er’? What’s that mean?? Why’re you here if she’s so fine-er –”

“ _Dirk_.” Dave claps a hand over my mouth. He’s got gloves on, and those’re warm, too. Soft leather. Touching my lips.

Something stirs way down low, and I have to think of something that isn’t how close we are, or how much I want to open my mouth against that hand. Be _calm._ Think Queen Elizabeth, Alaska, undercooked sushi –

“I’ll tell you everything, but first I need to get somewhere dark. I can’t be in a car right now, and we can’t go too far. There’s a movie theater a couple blocks over.” He drops his hand. “Think you can make it?”

I scowl at him, mostly because I’m trying to control the teenage hormones I was cursed with, but also so I don’t give away the fact that sitting anywhere with him, without Rose, is kind of what I wait all day for – and this time, Rose won’t be listening in the next room.

“I can make it,” I say peevishly. “I’m not the one who’s gonna die of terminal sunburn out here. And if you don’t explain why Rose is okay all alone, and it’s just you wanting to see Finding Dory and dragging me along so no-one wonders why a grown-ass man is watching a cartoon by himself, I’m gonna be really. Fucking. Mad.”

Dave’s mouth twitches. The punk is laughing at me.

Fuck. Why is he so cute when he smiles?

“Okay, kid, okay. You got it. One explanation coming up. After the popcorn.”


	11. cool dude

  * Dirk wants to argue. Dave can see it in the set of his shoulders, the shifting of his weight. He can smell it on Dirk’s skin, the beginnings of summer perspiration and stubbornness.
  * Dave’s glad the kid is calming down. He puts his arm around Dirk, hugs him both in shared victory and consolation. Dirk is worried about Dave, and about Rose, and Dave can’t blame him. Dirk’s thoughtful; a really good kid. But he’ll just have to trust Dave for a few more minutes. This isn’t the place for explanations. The gym teacher will be waking up now. They need to make tracks.
  * Despite the urgency, Dave lingers a little, on cloud nine and wanting to savor it for a second more. Today’s made him feel awesomely big-brotherly. Like the best big brother that ever was. Coming in like Batman or the Lone Ranger, saving his little brother from the evil clutches of the Texas public school system.
  * Even if Dirk’s not so little anymore.
  * Dirk shoots Dave a look, blushing so hard he reminds Dave of an apple-cheeked farm boy. How do people even have kids without dying of adorable? Sometimes Dave just want to squeeze Dirk forever. The kid’s so fucking _cute_. Dirk probably thinks Dave is teasing him, though. It’s hard to convey normal family touching in this day and age, and they haven’t had the best opportunities. 
  * Dave tries anyway, even as he attempts to distract Dirk from the contact, maybe spare him some embarrassment.
  * “Don’t gimme that look. Never gonna appreciate film if you don’t watch ‘em sometimes. Unless you’re too _cool_ to be seen with someone as old as me. Even if I am more hip than you’ll ever be. So hip. The hippest. Wait – do people still say hip? Did I just date myself?”




	12. approaching limit, parabola imminent

“You can’t date yourself. We don’t have equipment sophisticated enough to measure all the carbon in your fossilized bones. And no, no-one but old people says ‘hip’ anymore, so you blew it. I’m revoking your cool card.” We could go on forever, but I won’t let him. I can’t. If this keeps going, I’m liable to do something stupid. Something that might ruin everything.

I don’t push his arm off, though.

I move closer.

He’s cold under all those clothes. I can feel it. Not the cold, there’s too much fabric for that, but the lack of body heat. The clothes might as well be on a mannequin. A really firm, delicious mannequin who’s smiling at me, teasing me, his face so close to mine that I can’t resist it.

I’m going to Hell. Or whatever punishment awaits stupid teenagers who have raging hard-ons for their respective hot relatives. Really hot relatives.

Why’d God make them so hot if we’re not supposed to want to do things with them? Figure that one out, deists. I dare you. And don’t say something stupid like 'for temptation’, because oranges are also really damn good, and no-one damns you if can’t say no to one of those.  
  
“Come on, let’s get out of here. The quicker we go, the quicker we can get back home and I can prove to you that I’m not deficient in my Rose-minding abilities.” Dave turns toward the office, the only way out now that school’s pretty much closed, and part of me dies a little as he looks away, mourning the lost opportunity. I should’ve done it. Then at least he’d know.

But I don’t want him to know.  … do I?

“Wait.”

He stops, eyebrows perfect arches of gold over the matte black lenses of his sunglasses. “Wait? Not sweating enough yet? Need to melt a little more?”

“Yeah. Um.” I know he doesn’t mean it like it sounds, but perspiration breaks out along my spine, adding to the damp already coating my palms. I know I’m bright pink, I know I’m so flushed that anyone else would think I’m having a coronary. It almost hurts, the pressure of my own apprehension, but even that doesn’t make me back down. Because maybe Dave will like it. All of my blood so close to him.

His expression is changing, about to go into concerned-parent, and I don’t want that. I want him to like what he sees.

I shove my fear away. As fast as I can, I bob up on my tiptoes and kiss Dave on the cheek.

It’s smooth and smells just like it does at home, cool and private and musky with cologne. Every blood vessel in my body tries to burst at once, and my heart is hammering against my ribs as if it has somewhere way more important to be and needs to get out right the fuck now.

Dave blinks, surprised. “What –”

“Thanks,” I say before he can ask, and God, I’m so serious it’s pathetic. “For coming. I know it’s hard. I just. You know. Thanks.”


	13. kids, gotta love 'em

  * Dave stares.
  * He takes a second to make sure Dirk isn’t having a heart attack. His little heart is going so fast, and his face is almost magenta. But … no, he seems all right. Just nerves, or shyness. And Dirk thanked him anyway.
  * Six hundred years of watching families. Thirty generations of Striders. And Dave gets to live with the best one so far. Shit, but he really loves this kid.
  * But they’re at school. For Dirks sake - and to cool Dirk’s cheeks down - Dave keeps his admiration on the DL. He settles for muting his smile and mussing Dirk’s carefully - styled hair.
  * “I love you, too, bro. Now let’s go sit in the dark together and chill by ourselves, ‘cause that’s not weird at all.”




	14. you go to school to learn

Dave and Dirk waste a bunch of time until they finally manage to remember which way the exit lies. They wander off, Dirk with one hand in his pants, probably, and the coast is finally clear. Bro strolls out of Peixes’ office, ambling along the near wall, the western one, hands in his pockets. Other than a long-sleeve shirt beneath his Blockbuster-blue polo, and a white splatter of old, shiny scar tissue across one cheek and part of his throat, he isn’t any different than usual.

“I did it,” the woman says as he approaches.

“You sure did,” Bro agrees.

He stops beside her. She’s compact and tightly built, small perky tits, wide hips. Interesting hair. She was a good find, and she could’ve been fun, but Dave’s ruined her. “Thanks for the help.”

Her mouth moves. She tries to say ‘sure’ and 'any time’, but she can’t. “You’re welcome,” is what she settles on. “That kid’s got problems. He’s a huge nerd. And his dad is the weirdest fuck I’ve ever seen. So he…probably’ll need a lot of attention in class.”

Bro doesn’t answer, just watches blandly.

“To help him, uh, socialized. Keep him on the right track. Kids need guidance… ” She frowns like she has a headache. Irritated with herself, she thrusts her hand out. “Whatever. You have my money?”

“Ain’t the kind t'ever break a promise.” Bro pulls the stack of Benjamins out of his pocket and drops them into her palm. “Nice doin’ business with ya.”

He says it just so he can watch her try to lie, so he can get a bead on how strong Dave’s suggestion is. She glances down at the bills and touches them, rifles the edges of them with one painted fingernail. “… thanks.”

He shrugs. “Call ya again if I need another favor.”

“Sure. I mean…” She squints at him. “I can’t. Not if it’s about the students.”

Bro lowers his chin, regarding her over the tops of his sunglasses. “Why not.”

“Because…” She trails off, confused, then glares. “I just can’t, okay? Step off, already. We did our thing, now get out. This ain’t your school, you don’t go here.”

He’s seen enough. Dave is stronger than before, and that’s all Bro really needs to know. His little man, growing up so quick. Bro might even get a tad misty-eyed if he thinks about how good Dave will be in a fight. How noble and powerful, especially if he’s defending his pure little rugrat. Bro’s willing to bet that Dave doesn’t even understand what the stammering, horny brat was trying to tell him a second ago.

Bro pushes his sunglasses back up, rolls his shoulders and cracks his knuckles. God, that kid pisses him off. He hates that punk. “I’ll be back sometime this year. To kill you.”

The teacher’s eyes widen slightly. She drops back, fists up immediately, balanced on the balls of her feet in a martial arts stance. “Try it, motherfucker. Go ahead. I’ll lose my fucking shoe up your ass.”

“Not now, you stupid cow. Told you later. I ain’t got time today. Got somethin’ else to take care of. Oh – and ya might wanna use your money on somethin’ nice - but nothin’ too permanent, since ya won’t be around t'enjoy it.”

“Fuck you, shithead. Get lost!”

He turns his back on her and heads for the door. Before Dave fucked with her head, she might’ve grabbed a weapon, might’ve tried to take him out. Now he can practically hear her conflicting thoughts as she stands there, as indecisive as a dog with two bones. _Is this good for the little children? Should a teacher be involved in violence? What kind of example would it set?_

Bro’s set enough examples to not give a shit about hers. The only student he cares to inculcate is Dave, and he’s coming along nicely. It’s taken 600 years, but his lesson is almost done. Little man just needs one more tiny push, and Bro knows exactly what it’ll take to finish up Dave’s education.


End file.
